


Scattered Pearls

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Kinslaying, Gen, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: "And many pearls they won for themselves from the sea, and their halls were of pearl, and of pearl were the mansions of Olwë at Alqualondë, the Haven of the Swans, lit with many lamps." The Lindar have their own history, and it's somewhat different in the telling than the Noldorin version.





	Scattered Pearls

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TRSB'18, inspired by [hennethgalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/profile)'s art [Hall of Pearls](https://hennethgalad.dreamwidth.org/file/2289.png).

The sound of embarkation was dying down. There were only a few people still hurrying across the sands to the last of the boats. A few stragglers were crossing the bridge, but most of the folk crowding onto the boards were those who were staying, there to farewell those who were not.

He glanced back toward the forests one last time. Once they embarked, there would be no return. At least, none that either they or their Valarin hosts foresaw. He had so hoped…

“Come, my love, you don’t want to be left behind.”

His wife – his wonderful, understanding wife – had somehow contrived to either return or simply remain on shore, though he had thought her long since embarked with their son.

He tried to smile, but he feared it was more of a grimace. They had known this moment was coming, yet now that it was upon him, it was harder than he had thought.

“Elue is clever, and strong, and determined to return to the light he spoke of so convincingly. If he lives, he will find you, no matter which side of the Sea you make your home,” Lirë continued. “In the meantime, our people need you. Your _son_ needs you.”

“I am not staying behind,” he whispered, tempting though the thought was. Actually, he would happily split himself in two – leave one of him on the shore to wait, or maybe even go back to search, and the other to go on with his wife, child, and people. “Only making sure I am leaving none here who would come with us.”

“The last few families are taking their things onto the island now,” she replied firmly. “It would do many good to know their king was among them.”

_Come my love, you must set an example._

Olue turned, and took her outstretched hand.

His wife had known how difficult this moment would be for him. No matter how set he was on making sure their young son – and the children he hoped would be given to them in time – was raised in a place of safety, far from the reach of the Hunter, completing the Great Journey also meant accepting that his brother was gone.

Nor was Elue the only one they had lost along the way. Some had given up the Journey of their own accord, finding beauty enough in the lands they passed through to linger despite the dangers. Some had stayed behind to search, refusing to accept that Elue would not return, his younger brother among them. But others had simply vanished as Elue had.

He was not the only one who had been hoping against hope for his missing family to come striding out onto the sands today.

Lirë was right; it was time to depart. He cannot stay here on the shore waiting forever. If by some chance Elue should find his his way hither, there will still be some Lindar remaining to tell him where his brother has gone.

He chose not to walk over the bridge that will be cut when Ullumo frees the island. His people have found delight here at the edge of the Sea. They love to be in and around it, and the Lord of the Waters has been kind enough to teach them how to craft better boats than those they had devised for themselves to travel the rivers on the Journey.

He took the oars of one such boat himself, and waited only for his wife to settle herself in the seat facing him before he began to row. She was the one who looked back now, though he could see it was not with any great regret. He looked ahead – to her, to the island, their son, and their future.

\---

They had been underway some months when the building began in earnest.

Not the boats, of course. The Lindar had been building boats since Cuivienen, and have only grown more skilled and enthusiastic at it since. They are now working on boats large enough to need new names, with the aid and tutelage of Ullumo and his maiar.

But buildings… that was something new.

Once the initial excitement of beginning the final stage of the Journey had passed, his people were able to think more seriously on how and where they should live during the time it would take to cross the Great Sea.

The island did not move so quickly across the Sea that they could not still put out to fish, or simply to sail for the joy of it. Ossë their friend was ever obliging with a wind or a helpful current at need, and there was no danger of being lost. (Not anymore.)

Were it not for the fact that they saw nothing but water if they looked outward, it would be hard to believe that they were on an island, much less that the island _moved_.

There had already been a few shacks and hastily constructed shelters dotting the eastern side of Tol Eressëa when they began embarkation; there were also a number of carefully built houses scattered around the island – after all, the Lindar were not the first to make this voyage.

But while some of his folk were curious to see what lay ahead, most were content to make their dwelling on the eastern side of the island, where they had embarked, and where their harbor, such as it was, lay.

The building had been almost hesitant at first, but swiftly grew surer and more elaborate when neither Ullumo nor Ossë nor Uinen objected.

First came proper docks for the boats. Then houses convenient for folk who looked to the water for both sport and sustenance grew up close to the docks, but far enough from the water’s edge that an unexpected storm would not swamp them – and that trees might shade them.

Then the first workshops were constructed– for boats did not maintain themselves, nor cloth weave itself, nor anything else necessary for a comfortable life simply appear. Not long after that, they began to decorate their buildings, to act as though this were a place that was theirs, rather than a temporary camp.

The first adornments were simple – a bit of carved wood, a few stones worn pleasingly smooth by the sea. Then came shell. Then pearl-mother. Before long, the homes of the Lindar were no longer all similar in look, for the decoration of each house was at its inhabitants’ whim, and limited only by their creativity and what they could find to adorn it with.

\---

By the time Tol Eressëa anchored in the Bay of Eldamar (already named by the folk of Ingwë, to the disappointment of the Lindar who had other names in mind for such a delightful water), there was a small city on the eastern edge of the island.  It might not be as grand as the city on the hill Finwë and Ingwë were bursting to show off to the newly arrived, but it was comfortable, and for the Lindar, it was what they thought of as home.

After a few days in Tirion, Olue was only too happy to return to his quiet port on an island where he could hear the winds and the language of his own people. He was fond of Finwë, but the light on Tuna blotted out the stars, and the streets rang with the sounds of the crafts of the Noldor. More than that, the tongue of the Minyar and Tatyar had taken other paths than what was now to be known as Lindarin. (Or, as the other two kindreds would have it, Telerin. But as no time had been appointed in advance for their arrival, he will not call himself a ‘latecomer’, and Olue suspected he spoke for his people in that.)

Even his name was different there – Olwë. It was no longer Elue Finwë asked after, but Elwë.

He was quite happy to sit on his own dock in the comforting darkness, and look at the lights he had known first.

His wife joined him, once she had settled their younger son to sleep.

“Well?” she asked wryly.

She could see just by his expression it had not gone well.

“Finwë and Ingwë do not understand why we wish to stay here. To them, Tol Eressëa was little more than a way to get from one shore to another,” he told her softly. “Nor can they see why we would linger on the outer edges of the land that was promised to us, or shun the light.”

Súyelírë laughed softly.

“Are you really surprised?” she replied. “When have they ever understood our people, much less you?”

He frowned, but she spoke true.

Finwë had been a great friend of his brother Elue; Olue had been closer to Noue their kinsman, whose mind was more like his own. But Noue Círdan had reached the shores too late to finish the Journey with them, coming only once the island was already underway. He remained on the Hither Shore with Elmo and those of Elue’s host who would not march on without him, while Olue found himself dealing with those who had expected his brother to lead the Lindar.

“I suppose that is only fair,” he said at last. “For I in my turn do not understand them. The light may be marvelous, but do they not miss the stars? They can be seen but faintly from the greater part of Túna, and only at the Mingling. Even the eastern side of the hill does not see them as we do here.”

“Perhaps they have learned to think differently,” she offered. “We might have done the same, had our Journey not been slower, and interrupted.”

“I think I would have wished to see the stars even if we had arrived with Ingwë and Finwë,” Olue huffed. “Why should the creations of the Starkindler be forsaken for those of the Fruit-giver? They are both beautiful. Why would we not wish to appreciate them?”

Súyelírë sighed.

“You argue with the wrong person, my headstrong one,” she pointed out. “I too love the stars – and the peace of our island. I have grown too used to the music of the wind and the waves to live away from the sea.”

“I will hear what our people have to say in the morning, but I am not minded to move,” he said, and his words made the matter sound rather more settled than he had meant it.

“The western face of the island is enough light for me. We can have our gardens there and dwell still here in Avalondë.”

\---

“You needn’t move all the way to Tirion, you know.”

Olue glanced sideways at Finwë.

He had grown somewhat closer to the Noldóran over the years. The Noldor were ever curious, ever inquisitive – and good trading partners besides. If it weren’t for so many of them being sea-sickers, there would probably be nearly as many Noldor on the island as Lindar, busy cataloging the plants, animals, and birds who shared the Lindarin preference for the twilight.  

The royal couple of the Noldor had come for a visit, with Míriel as usual holding up better on the ship from the mainland. (Súyelírë said the Queen of the Noldor had a good laugh at Finwë’s utter inability to find his sea-legs – he had apparently been one of those who had used the bridge in the days of the Noldor’s embarkation. Finwë himself was even-keeled about his misfortune once the nausea had passed.)

Their wives were walking in the night-garden, where Míriel was keen to see the color of one of the flowers Yavanna had created specially for the darker eastern side of the island. Several of Finwë’s advisors had accompanied him, and were being shown around by their Lindarin counterparts. Olue is curious to hear what ‘improvements’ they will come up with this time. (There was always at least one. The last time a delegation of the Noldor visited, it had better holders for the lights on the docks.)

Finwë had naturally taken up his old theme – persuading the ‘Teleri’ to finally make what he termed ‘the last few miles of the Journey’.

“There are many places on the shores where you might build a new city,” Finwë pointed out. “I have found one I think would answer for your needs – though it has fair strands for bathing to the north and south, the site itself would let your ships come right up to where you would have your houses.”

“And you found this all on your own?” Olue asked in some amusement.

What Finwë knew of ships would take up only a leaf or two of one of Rumil’s new _books_. That he was competent to determine what would make a good harbor was laughable – or it would be, if Olue had no care for his friend’s feelings.

“Well, no…” Finwë’s cheeks turned a bit red. “I may have asked Ossë’s advice on that point.”

Olue raised a brow.

“I am surprised he indulged you. I had the impression he found our current situation ideal.”

“He and Uinen and Ulmo may be content to have you out here on the margins, but the other Valar wish to see more of you,” Finwë said diplomatically.

“Meaning if persuasion doesn’t work, we may be ordered?” Olue asked wryly.

He couldn’t deny that Avallondë was becoming somewhat crowded, and the harbor could not be enlarged much beyond its current extent. There were several villages dotted around the coast, as well as two in the center of the island. They had recently begun discussing building another port on the western side, the better to trade with their kin on the mainland. But to move to the mainland themselves had not been a suggestion any of his counsellors had voiced.

He disliked the pressure from outsiders.

But he also knew that Finwë was feeling somewhat lonely, and that Miriel might be as well.

Ingwë had recently removed from Tirion to Valimar to be closer to the Valar. With him had gone not only all of his people, but his sister Indis, a great friend of both Finwë and Miriel. And while many of the Noldor were doing their best to fill the empty space in their city with children, Finwë and Míriel had yet to be given the gift of a child.

Olue knew his friend longed for such a blessing – it was easy enough to see in the way he doted on Olue’s own sons, looking wistfully at them when he thought himself unobserved.

Olue sighed.

“I make no promises,” he told Finwë, “but I will go with you to view this wonderful harbor you have badgered Ossë into picking out for us.”

“We could help with the building,” Finwë offered hopefully, doing his best to suppress his excitement – and not succeeding in the least. “We learned a great deal constructing Tirion that might be put to use for your new city!”

 “I see now why you are so eager,” Olue laughed. “You Noldor have no cause to build another city for yourselves, and you are getting _bored_ up there on your hill!”

\---

“Admit it, you are enjoying this after all,” Finwë said cheerfully, clapping Olue on the shoulder.

Olue looked up from where he was chalking the outlines of the design he had chosen for the floor of what would be his new house – his _palace_ , as Finwë would have it.

He had chosen a pattern of waves, to be executed in blues, greens, and whites, with a scattering of pearl-mother for the spray. It should give visitors the feeling that they walk on the waters when they enter his hall.

Finwë had been as good as his word when it came to helping. It sometimes seems to Olue that half the folk of Tirion are working side by side to raise the new, as yet unnamed city. That is to the good, for while the Lindar had a good many carpenters among them – building a wooden house is not so different from building a wooden ship – they had few stonemasons, and had rarely had cause to use many of the tools the Noldor were happy to show them that were proving useful.

Both peoples were finding their partnership beneficial. The Noldor too were learning new things – from the number of them taking a keen interest in the design of the new houses of the ‘Teleri’, Olue suspected fountains would be the new vogue in Tirion when they returned to their own city. There were a few in the public plazas, but it had apparently not occurred to the Wise Ones to put smaller ones in their houses. It was the odd Lindarin dwelling that did not have a pool or fountain, either in the courtyard or in the entryway.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Olue answered, though his enjoyment was less for the work than for the satisfaction he knew the finished city would bring.

His friend has been enjoying the work immensely. Finwë and his craftsmen have added many touches, some practical, some simply for the joy of it – like the crystals and clear gemstones they have scattered on the beaches outside the city itself, adding unexpected flashes of light and color to the white sands.

“I have brought something new,” Finwë continued. “Our jewelwrights call them nárimirë.”

Olue peered at the stones closely.

“Are they ones they made, or ones they found?” he asked.

With the Noldor, it could go either way. The stone Finwë had handed him looked almost milky white at first glance, but was shot through with veins of light that sparkled in different colors, some like the fire it is named for, but others more like water. Other stones looked bluish, some greenish. Trust the Noldor to name it for _fire_ when _water_ would have done just as well…Olue suspected there would soon be another fine debate between the Lindarin wordsmiths and the Noldorin ones.

“Found, if you can believe it!” Finwë grinned. “They were discovered completely by accident while we were prospecting for the red gemstones Miríel is so fond of. Though I am told several of the jewelwrights are experimenting to see if they can be made as well. They seem to think it possible.”

Olue looked more closely. He rather fancied the stone was what happened if one fused sand and water. Perhaps Ulmo would know.

“They seem like they would look well sea-polished,” he offered.

“Which is a polite way of saying you fancy them more than the crystals we scattered on the beach last week. I thought you might – I’ve had a wagon-load brought for that purpose. But I’ve saved some of the nicer ones for you to use in your mosaics. I thought they’d make an interesting contrast with the nacre.”

Yes, they would. Especially the ones that seem to blend fire and water in one stone. Olue would need to think of a new design to show them off properly.

“You are very considerate,” he said. “Thank you!”

Finwë laughed again.

“It is a joy to me to see you so pleased,” he said. “Besides, Mirë and I can’t be the only ones contemplating adding a nursery to our house – these seem like they would fascinate a little one.”

Olue brightened at his friend’s hopeful mention.

He has worried from time to time what Finwë will find to occupy his days when the new city is complete, which is likely to be only a few seasons more as hard as all involved have been working.

The things the Lindar have designed for themselves, from wooden quays to stone jetties to the light-tower that will serve as both guide and warning to the ships in times of storm, have been taken up with enthusiasm by the Noldor.

Some have been refined and improved on in typical Noldor fashion. The Noldor, for example, knew much more of light than the Lindar, and had been able to show them how to use mirrors and lenses to greatly extend the reach of the light in the tower.

But in the end, this is a Lindarin city, and it is their own sensibilities that have given it shape and form. They have been hoarding pearls since the decision was made that they would move to the mainland, and all those stockpiled pearls will be used to adorn their new city. The gate of the harbor is an arch of living rock, carved out for them by the sea – made by Ulmo himself, his people said proudly.

While they were hard at work here, the Lindar were not idle on Tol Eressëa. The shipwrights have undertaken their greatest work yet, new ships that will take them from the island to their new port, moving nearly all their people and goods when the city is complete. Not just the yards of Avallondë, but every space available for such work on the island has been put to use.

Every one of their people has some part to play in the making of the ships, from the small children who helped mix the paints and polish the stones and pearl-mother that would be used to adorn them, to the weavers who were working on the finest sails yet made and the woodworkers carving the prows into the heads of birds. Various birds are being used, but Olue himself had chosen a swan, and he has been told it is the most popular choice.

He was as proud of the ships as of the city, and they will have pride of place in the new port. He has not given much thought to it yet, but when the time comes, he means to have his people enter their new city in procession, one ship after another, until all have arrived. Perhaps he should invite Ingwë and his folk as well as the Noldor.

And yes, once they are settled here, he rather hoped there would be cause for a nursery. There is room in both his new house and his heart for another child or two. He can only hope that Finwë will be blessed with one or two of his own. It would be good to see their children playing together.

\---

“My father regrets he could not bring Arafinwë himself, some bother between two of the guilds about which one takes precedence at the next festival,” Prince Curufinwë told them with a regretful bow of his head. “He hopes you will accept his profuse apologies.”

The crown prince of the Noldor handed Olue a note which was in Finwë’s hand. It was in the new writing, which explained why it was Curufinwë Fëanaro himself who brought his youngest brother – he could thus ensure the Ciriáran was able to read it properly and had not been misinstructed on the _tengwar_.

“I would suggest the note be read in private,” Curufinwë added in an undertone. “Father wrote rather less formally than I have spoken…”

Olue could well imagine he had.

While the Noldor seemed to be raising etiquette to an art form these days, Finwë remembered when times had been simpler, and speech plainer.

“Welcome, Prince Arafinwë,” Olue said formally. “And you, Prince Curufinwë, though you will not be with us as long, are no less welcome.”

The speeches of welcome from the leading lights of the Lindar were far briefer than they would have been had this been Tirion, and soon enough he was able to usher both boys into the garden.

 It seemed no time at all since he and Finwë had laid the foundations for the walls – more to keep out the sand and sea spray during the stormy season than to keep out people – yet so much has changed.

Olue and Lirë had cause to send gifts to Tirion soon after Alqualondë’s festive Moving-In, for Finwë and Miriel had at long last been giving the long-hoped for blessing. That it had inexplicably gone so wrong still puzzled nearly everyone. Miriel had retreated to Lorien, and thence to Mandos within a few years of Curufinwë’s birth.

That would have been shocking enough, but Finwë’s second marriage had split Noldorin society into two, and sent tremors through the Vanyar and Lindar as well. It was not that they did not like Indis – or approve of her, as if _she_ were somehow the issue – but Miriel’s death had brought a great many long-simmering issues close to the boil.

That Finwë has made clear at every opportunity that his first-born son was the Crown Prince, his chosen successor should the need ever arise, had done little to cool things. It was to be hoped that fostering Indis’ youngest son Arafinwë in Alqualondë might calm the waters.

The boy was of an age with Olue’s daughter, and it was for that reason as much as to prevent any further sniping about _Vanyar in Finwë’s House_ that he had been sent to foster with the Lindar rather than with his uncle Ingwë in Valimar.

Olue opened the letter and looked to the Prince of the Noldor for help.

“This one makes the sound ‘n’?” he asked. “Or is is ‘ng’?”

“That one is ‘n’, as ‘númen’, Ciriáran,” Curufinwë answered politely. “If it were ‘ng’, as ‘noldo’ it would be opposite, with the stem to the right, and the bows pointing to the sky rather than the ground.”

“I am afraid I have not had adequate time to study your letters, young man,” Olue said regretfully. “But as your father surely knew that, I suspect it is safe enough for you to read this aloud for me. Perhaps tomorrow, after you have rested from your journey, you might have the kindness to instruct an old man in your new writing.”

“It would be my honor, King Olwë,” Curufinwë replied. “The letter reads thus: _Olwë! I regret I have to send the boys without me, but these blasted guilds can’t seem to settle minor quarrels on their own. See if you can’t convince Naro (who will most certainly not let you or Lirë call him that) to relax for a few days, and do your best to bring Ara out of his shell. I’m afraid he gets lost in the endless one-upping between his older brothers. I’m glad you offered to host him – it will do him good to be away from all that and have some time to figure out his interests without them standing over either shoulder. All my best to Lirë, the boys, and the little swan-maiden! With hearty thanks, Finwë”_

Both Noldorin princes were blushing by the end of the letter.

“Finwë sounds much the same no matter which letters he uses,” Olue observed. “Well, I think you’ve both been sufficiently embarrassed for one afternoon. Curufinwë, I know you know you are sure enough on deck, what of your little brother?”

Curufinwë shrugged, and Arafinwë looked nervous.

“I haven’t sailed before, sir,” he offered hesitantly.

“Ah, well, that’s easily remedied,” Olue laughed. “I’ll send you out with Eärwen. Should you turn out to be a sea-sicker, she’ll let you live it down, where I’m afraid my sons would never let you hear the end of it.”

The boy looked if anything more nervous, but Súyelírë was already herding him off to find their daughter.

Privately, Olue suspected he’d be fine. From what he’s heard, the boy took more after his mother than his father, and Indis carried herself as well in a boat as any Linda.

“And is there anything I can do to amuse you, young Curufinwë?” Olue asked. “While your brother is off making the acquaintance of my daughter and the sea?”

“I was hoping, sir, that I might spend some time in the Hall of Pearls,” the Crown Prince replied. “My father has spoken often of how impressive it is. Though I have only seen it once myself, when I was younger, I have studied drawings of it recently, and I believe it might be better lit to show off the mosaics on the walls and ceiling.”

“Do you ever do anything that doesn’t involve thinking, young man?” Olue sighed with a shake of his head.

“Sir?” the prince replied, sounding baffled.

“Never mind, Curufinwë. I’ll show you to the Hall. And take your time. I am sure your idea will be brilliant, but you needn’t try to put it into practice tonight or even tomorrow.”

\---

The Hall had never looked as beautiful as it did that evening, Olue thought.

Then again, perhaps that was just sentiment on his part. After all, he had only one daughter and it was her wedding day. Eärwen was radiant, her hair caught up in ropes of pearls, her dress swishing about her like sea-foam as she danced with her new husband.

He never would have expected after that inauspicious start that she would set her heart on Arafinwë – much less that Finwë could be persuaded to let the pair not only marry, but spend the first years of their married life here in Alqualondë.

“Well, it’s not quite what I meant when I encouraged him to take up diplomacy, but I suppose it does much the same thing,” Finwë sighed from his seat to Olue’s right.

“Too late to have second thoughts now, father of the groom,” Olue snorted. “I think you’ll find both of them object if you try to call it off now.”

“Don’t be silly,” Finwë said with a wave of his hand. “You know perfectly well how pleased I am to see the pair of them happy. And to have your little swan join my family! It’s just that Naro’s followers make such a thing of Ara not marrying among our people…”

“The older two are no better friends, then?” Olue said with a sigh. “I suppose I should be happy my boys are the opposite, more often each other’s staunch allies, even if it did often feel more troublesome when they were younger.”

“Oh?” Finwë asked with an expectant smile. “There is something worse than sons who won’t stop teasing and antagonizing each other?”

“Just you wait until you have to deal with a pair who work together to get around you!” Olue warned. “I suppose it’s a bit late to expect it to happen with your sons, but you’ve a fine troop of grandsons coming along, so it’s all but inevitable that a few of them will prove fast friends.”

“Mmm, troop is the right word, but I hope there may prove to be a few grand _daughters_ among them,” Finwë said, sipping his wine. “It’s probably too late to look to Naro for that, four sons already, but Nolo or Ara might manage a girl or three between them.”

“What of Irimë or Findis?” Olue asked slyly. “You put all your hopes on your sons rather than your daughters?”

“Neither of them have so much as mentioned a young man as interested yet,” Finwë replied. “So I think I’m safe there for a while.”

“Oh?” Olue said with a grin. “You shouldn’t underestimate our young men – why, there’s Irimë dancing with my Eärlindo now…”

“Hush, you, stop trying to marry my girls off when I’ve just given you a son!” Finwë protested. “I mean to keep my little Lalwendë and sweet Findë home a bit longer, thank you. And… oh, Tulkas’ balls, you’re right, it does look as if she likes the look of him. Well, you mustn’t expect to claim them all! Ingwë’s been protesting about not seeing enough of his nieces and nephews, and I may have to send her to Valimar for a while to keep the peace.”

Olue smiled as he watched their sons and daughters twirl by, Eärwen laughing at some joke of Irimë’s as the two couples passed each other.

Finwë’s older sons might not be getting along in general, but they had at least declared a truce for their baby brother’s wedding, and Curufinwë had delivered the new lamps he had devised and overseen the hanging of them the previous week to light the hall ‘so that everyone will see it as it should be – and my new sister as _she_ should be!’

The lamps were different than previous ones he had made, which had a blue light. These were more like Treelight, a subject that it was said to be much on the Crown Prince’s mind of late. The Pearl Lamps, as he had named them, did not reproduce the light of the trees, but they came very close. When the ones like to Laurelin and the ones like to Telperion were hung in equal numbers, it produced an effect very like the mingling, which reflected off the thousands of pearls, and pearl-mother tiles throughout the Hall as though the Trees themselves had come to Alqualondë.

It was a magnificent gift, and one which Olue doubted he would be able to match, though he has already begun to think on the subject. With four fine sons, it was unlikely Curufinwë and his wife would beget further children, but perhaps on the occasion of their eldest son’s marriage such a particularly fine gift would be appropriate. He hasn’t decided what it should be yet, but he feels it should somehow relate to water, an element which the Crown Prince of the Noldor has not had much to with.

\---

Olue looked in astonishment at Curufinwë.

_Not Prince Curufinwë anymore_ , he reminded himself.

Impossible, horrible as it was to believe, his old friend Finwë was _dead_. Melkor had murdered him, killed him here in the Undying Lands as surely as the Hunter had taken their kin in the dark of the Shadowed Lands.

More than that, he had destroyed the Trees, the light itself.

Shock and grief echoed across Aman, the losses felt in Alqualondë no less than Tirion or Valimar – or so he had thought.

But with the remarkable speech Curufinwë had just given, it occurred to Olue to wonder if perhaps he had been wrong. His people, more used to living at the edge of the Light and beyond it, sailing starlit seas just as they had once navigated the lands of the East, may be coping better with the tragedy than the Vanyar or the Noldor.

The other two kindreds may have sniffed at the ‘latecomers’, but the Lindar still remembered how to live without the Trees, and did not seem to be showing such signs of madness as the Noldor were suffering if they thought that Curufinwë’s demand was in any way reasonable.

“King Fëanaro,” he said slowly, speaking firmly though he kept his voice gentle, “do not believe that I am unmoved by what has befallen you. I grieve the loss of Finwë your father no less than I grieved the loss of my own brother so many years ago.”

He could see the dangerous flash of the boy’s eyes – Curufinwë was too practiced at sparring with brother and father alike not to smell the denial coming.

“But hear now the counsel of one who has known you since your begetting, and your parents many years before that, and looked on you almost as a brother-son, having none of my own. The course you propose to steer is madness, and no true friend would I be if I encouraged you in it!”

He paused, knowing the boy did not wish to hear it, but hoping that a splash of cold water might cool his fire – and more importantly, that of his followers who had accompanied him. He spoke knowing his own people also listened, and that though they had not been swayed by the new Noldoran’s words in Ossë’s Yard, some surely were wavering privately.

“You who have been begotten and born here in the land guarded by the Valar do not understand what you propose in returning to the lands east of the Sea,” he began. “Have you not asked those among you, for you had them in Tirion if not among your host, who can remember the time when they had not yet seen the Trees? Did you not listen when Rumil and your other loremasters spoke of the Hunter and his creatures – creatures that have had all the time we have been here in Eldamar to multiply and strengthen themselves?”

Curufinwë tossed his head scornfully, showing without words that this moved him not.

“You speak in haste, and as though you expect that the Valar will do nothing to redress your hurts,” Olue continued. “I have never welcomed the one you now name _Morgoth_ to my land, but nor have I given up all trust in the ones who invited us here to safety. You complain that they do nothing, though little time has passed since these outrages. Stay a while yet, and see what they do before you take action yourself. I have walked in the darkness before, and I am confident that we will see light again. There are stars above you yet, Noldoran, if you would but look up.”

Curufinwë laughed, but there was no mirth in the harsh sound.

“You renounce your friendship, even in the hour of our need,” he snapped. “Yet you were glad indeed to receive our aid when you came at last to these shores, fainthearted loiterers, and well nigh empty-handed. You would still be living in huts on the beaches had not the Noldor carved out your haven and labored on your walls.”

“Your education has been remiss indeed, son of Finwë, if such is your understanding of our history,” Olue replied, refusing to take the bait.

It was more important than ever that he keep his cool, and not answer fire with storm. Did the Noldor not understand that still waters were the more dangerous? The deadliest rip currents looked like perfect calm compared to the breakers around them. The Valar were far more powerful than the elves, though their slower, more deliberate course even in anger might appear as weakness to a spirit like Fëanaro.

“In peace on Tol Eressëa, in houses of our own making, and docks of our own design, we would still have been happy,” Olue said. His voice was quiet, but the Hall of Pearl had grown so silent that it carried nonetheless. “No friendship have we renounced. It is the part of a friend to rebuke a friend’s folly. When the Noldor first welcomed us, and aided us, your father spoke otherwise. In this land were we to dwell forever, as brothers in houses side by side.”

“Many gifts I have given you over the years, Ciriáran,” Curufinwë said harshly. “Even as we speak, we stand in the light of lamps I wrought. Yet now, when one gift from you would repay all, you deny me that which I need most?”

“Gifts are given freely, not demanded, Fëanaro son of Finwë” Olue said, his voice growing firmer.

He could hear the angry murmurs from his people now. The new king of the Noldor did not understand what it was he asked of his would-be allies.

“And it is not just any ‘gift’ you crave, but our _ships_ ,” Olue continued. “Those you did _not_ give us. Shipbuilding we did not learn from the Noldor, but from the lords of the Sea: Ulmo and Ossë taught us and guided us. Nor have the Noldor improved on what we have learned! The timbers of our ships we wrought with our own hands; the sails were woven by our own weavers. The ropes are our own make, and the blocks of our devising. Our ships are not yours to demand, either as a gift or a loan. And we will not give them, lend them, or sell them for any league or friendship. They are not only our livelihood and our joy, but more. Like the gems of the Noldor, they are the work of our hearts, whose like we shall not make again.”

“Long will this be remembered,” Curufinwë thundered.

“Let us hope so,” Olue replied. “For it is the moment when you have been offered good counsel by one who has always wished you well. When you are calmer, you may judge differently than you do at present.”

He felt true worry as he watched Curufinwë storm from the Hall, calling for his people and any _Teleri_ who were not fainthearted fools to follow him.

No Lindar would follow anyone who demanded they answer to that name.

 

“Eärsuro,” he said quietly to his younger son. “See if you can discover where in this unruly march Arafinwë and his children are to be found, and have them brought to me if they will come.”

Perhaps Ara might be able to calm his brother. He has often defused tensions between his brothers. And if not… Olue will not watch all his good friend’s children run to their deaths, much less his own grandchildren.

\---

Never had Olue heard Alqualondë so silent as it was now. Even the wind and the waves have fallen silent in the face of the tragedy.

It seemed impossible to believe that it was but a handful of hours ago he had believed that Curufinwë could be reasoned with.

A few hours ago that he had had _living_ sons.

He was not alone in his grief, though he took no comfort in that.

The greatest part of the mariners of the Lindar had fallen defending their ships, for the Noldor had fallen upon them just before the tide, when many were preparing to put to sea. There was scarce a house in Alqualondë that did not weep for their fallen.

Numb survivors were still trying to see to the wounded, and give some dignity to the dead.

He had seen children carrying buckets, and when he had asked what they were for, had been horrified at the answer – to wash off the boards. He sent them to the gardens to harvest burn-ease instead. That could be used on cuts and scrapes as well as burns. Such a task was not much better, but at least the little ones would not have to look at the obscenity of quays stained in Lindarin blood.

The Noldor had intended treachery. They had come prepared to take the ships regardless of what the Lindar said; mail, armor, sword, and spear they brought against people who had little more than fishing bows and boathooks with which to defend themselves.

The ships were gone. Many of those who had crewed them were dead or maimed.

His own ship was gone along with the rest, and his granddaughter with it, for he has been told that Fëanaro’s sons carried her on the ship they had taken as their own. The steward who had been lucky to escape spoke of her raging at them. (The sailmaker who had seen her overpowered swore by Tulkas and Manwë that Artanis had been fighting in defense of the Lindar when her cousins disarmed her.)

The Hall of Pearls was still lit by the lamps Curufinwë had wrought, but now they shone over a scene of mourning instead of joy. The bodies of the dead were being brought there, to be identified, cleaned, and dressed. Where once his children had danced, two were now being washed for the last time before he gave them to the Sea.

The storm gathering to the North was no consolation. It would not breathe life into the dead, or bring the ships back.

Curufinwë may view himself as having won something tonight – a point, an argument, perhaps a battle, even – but in truth he had lost something far greater. They all had. Olue would give all the pearls in Alqualondë to bring it back if only he could.


End file.
